


Close the Door on Your Way Out

by angelicaschuyler



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face Slapping, Fingering, Hair-pulling, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Painful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 14:18:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8017285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicaschuyler/pseuds/angelicaschuyler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll say her name, son.”</p>
<p>His eyelids flutter. A strangled gasp. “Angelica.”</p>
<p>“Again,” Angelica instructs.</p>
<p>Another sharp crack, the opposite cheek.</p>
<p>“Son,” Washington says, a warning.</p>
<p>Alexander slowly rolls his head back onto her lap. He looks up at her, eyes glistening. <i>“Angelica.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Close the Door on Your Way Out

**Author's Note:**

> a-schuyler.tumblr.com, talk to me there!

His head is resting in her lap, black hair loose and draped over her thighs. Face flushed, brow drenched in sweat. She drags her fingernails, hard, up the column of his neck. It’s enough to leave two thin white scratches. Enough to make him shiver on the mattress, eyes drifting shut, before they open again — wide as her favorite porcelain saucers.

Angelica’s eyes travel down the length of his body, down to where Washington has pushed in a third finger, all the way up to the knuckles. He pulls almost all the way out, shoves them back in. Angelica’s lips twist into a smirk. From her lap, Alexander lets out a low whine, his jaw goes slack.

“He’s ready,” Angelica says. She tangles her fingers in Alexander’s hair and pulls, forcing him to meet her eyes. “Open your legs. More.”

Alexander’s thighs spread and drop, limp across the bedspread, his brown eyes locked with her’s as Washington lifts up his hips, thumbs pressed hard into his hipbones as he pushes in. Washington doesn’t give him time to adjust, to catch his breath. The top of Alexander’s head presses into her stomach with each rhythmic thrust, Washington grunting from the effort.

“Sir,” Alexander whispers, a hand reaching out to clutch Washington’s forearm. Angelica’s heartbeat quickens, her cheeks grow hot. She digs her fingernails into Alex’s scalp, grabs a fistful of hair, pulls, grins when she hears him squeal.

“Your Excellency?” she asks, lifting an inquiring eyebrow.

Washington’s eyes meet her’s briefly, knowingly, and then — a hard crack, a wide palm on the bare skin of Alexander’s cheek. Hard enough to bruise, she thinks, pleased.

“You’ll say her name, son.”

His eyelids flutter. A strangled gasp. “Angelica.”

“Again,” Angelica instructs.

Another sharp crack, the opposite cheek.

“Son,” Washington says, a warning.

Alexander slowly rolls his head back onto her lap. He looks up at her, eyes glistening. _“Angelica.”_

She blinks once. Acceptable. And then, to Washington, “Harder.” She looks at Alexander’s cock, neglected and leaking over his stomach. “Leave him as he is.”

Alexander’s hands fist in the sheets, he grinds his teeth down as Washington pushes his leg up — thigh to chest, nearly bends him in half — and quickens his pace. Deeper, rougher, enough to make Alexander cry out, a tangled mix of pain, of blissful pleasure, of shame.

“Don’t break him,” Angelica muses, running the pad of her thumb over Alexander’s bottom lip, dry and chapped under her touch. She dips her thumb into his mouth, nearly laughs when she feels his tongue dart out to chase it. She replaces her thumb with two fingers, dragging them in and out of Alex’s mouth, soaking them with spit, pleasure stirring in the pit of her stomach when she feels and hears Alexander gag around them.

She spreads her thighs just slightly under his head, enough to wedge her hand between them, to grind and rub against her slick fingers. The first wave of pleasure comes in just minutes, but it’s dull and disappointing and over far too fast — disappointing enough to further annoy her when she sees Alexander’s hand snaking down his stomach, toward his cock.

“Sir, _please,_ ” he begs again, moaning low in the back of his throat. Angelica knows it’s all a game, the way he looks at Washington, the way he calls out to him when he knows she’s there. It’s a game, but she won’t play.

“Put him on his knees.”

Washington doesn’t question, and Alexander is flipped over and onto his elbows and knees in a matter of moments. She watches, still seated on her heels, as Alexander’s face twists and contorts with each thrust, the brutal slap of skin against skin filling the room.

Before Alexander drops his forehead against the mattress, she sees it — the slightest hint of a smug smile.

“Mr. President. Bring him up, if you would.”

Washington grabs a fistful of hair at the nape of Alexander’s neck, roughly pulls his head back up and, _oh_. It’s a beautiful sight — his cheeks flushed, dark red from Washington’s hands, fresh tears spilling onto his cheeks with each tug of hair, each snap and roll of Washington’s hips. Once Angelica commits the image to memory, she lets herself fall back against her satin pillows, her own legs parting. Washington lets go his hair, shoves Alexander back down by the shoulders. He doesn’t need beckoning or guidance, he simply crawls between Angelica’s thighs, Washington following behind him on his knees, hands never loosening their grip on Alexander’s hips.

It’s too sloppy, too rushed and aimless when his mouth finally meets her, tongue darting out, exploring, lapping her up. She slaps his hand away when it reaches up to grope her breast and then, with the same hand, grabs his hair to try and lead him.

“You can do better than that, my boy,” Washington says, disapproval thick in his tone. She feels Alexander hum between her thighs, then a finger push its way inside her, then a second, his tongue finally hitting her clit, making her shiver, arch her back off the bed.

It’s the sound of Washington finishing — the uncontrolled and needy slap of his hips, followed immediately by a deep grunt — that tips her over the edge, writhing against the sheets, breasts rapidly rising and falling with each shaky breath. Alexander sits up, but she pushes him away with a bare heel pressed into his shoulder. Washington, she notices upon opening her eyes, has already removed himself from the bed, collecting his folded clothes off a nearby chair.

Alexander looks between the two of them, panicked, his cock still stiff and dripping between his legs.

“Angelica,” he pleads, tearing his eyes away from Washington. She smiles. He’s learned. _“Please.”_

“I expect you’ll have no trouble finding the door,” she says, stretching her legs out.


End file.
